User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/A Rewrite of Redwall: Loamhedge/@comment-3135907-20150405042403/@comment-2246928-20150410162920

The soft dawnlight drifting silently throughout the band's woodland campsite was met by violently-blinking weasels and yawning stoats, a tall, evil-looking fox sitting up to stretch and a rat and his ferret companion hurrying off to follow through on their duties, fleeing a cursing weasel who then turned upon the rest of his band with a wicked smile on his rough face.

"Wakey wakey, y' useless cods! Bein' th' kind auld 'earts they are, Larvey 'n' Rocnose volunteered t' go rootin' fer brekkist, while yew lot 'ave th' esteemed 'onor o' gettin' a fire goin' 'n' settin' me up s'm shelter." He paused, glaring at his band, before suddenly pulling out his cutlass and, bounding over the dead fire, whipped it viciously across a lounging weasel's back. The unfortunate beast screeched in pain, ducking beneath a second blow and stumbling over, his paws held up pleadingly as the other mustelids hastened to obey.

"Owow! Please, chief, please! I'll go!"

"Then 'OP TO ET!"

The mange-ridden weasel skidded over in his haste, before regaining his footing and darting off into the trees.

The fat bandit chieftain snorted in disgust, shaking his head as he sheathed his cutlass and looked over to the two foxes. "Idjits 'n' cowwids th' lotta 'em, eh, Skrodd, Rasp?"

Skrodd smirked, nodding as he stood and dusted himself off. "Aye. Not like us, chief."